Battling Innocence
by lauruhn
Summary: When Crowley hears that the Winchesters are attempting to close the gates of Hell, he sends back a team of demons to stop Sam before he ever has a chance to get back into the life. Dean follows the demons back, finding himself at Stanford, 2004. Hoping to save his failed relationship with his brother, he has a choice to make. Stay in the past, or go back to 2013? AU Roleplay thread
1. Chapter 1

This is a compilation of an ongoing thread from my roleplaying account. Wanted to put it into fic format for easier reading, seeing as there are a few fans of the work already. Prepare for the angst.

Dean is here: whiskeyandgunoil | tumblr

Sam is here: hellbound-hunter | tumblr

Enjoy, and let me know if there's anything that needs fixed. Story will switch points of view very often, considering it's a roleplay thread.

* * *

Laughter emerged beyond the confines of his lips as Sam directed his gaze from one face to the other, clearly enjoying whatever conversation was taking place between the trio. The idle chatter didn't last for very long before he excused himself and gathered his items, clutching the small collection of books against his chest.

The young Sam Winchester was slow to navigate his way through the massive horde of students until, at last, he vacated the campus. The rather checkered past of his family prompted him to seek solitude in the form of an apartment close enough to Standford for him to walk, and he now found himself making the final turn that would ultimately lead him to his apartment building.

* * *

This _definitely_ wasn't his idea. Screwing with time was one thing, Hell, he'd done it quite a few times. He didn't have a problem going back and persuading his dad into buying the Impala. Didn't have a problem going back and meeting friggin' Elliot Ness. But he definitely had an issue going back on a mission to hunt down demons that Sam had no idea existed. Going back to Stanford. The whole idea had been putting him off for weeks. But when Crowley decided to send some of his boys Sam's way, to stop him before he can cause any damage, or even find out about the trials, Dean wasn't just about to let it happen.

He has to protect Sammy, no matter the cost.

After hunting down the portal that Crowley had used to send them back, Dean followed suit and soon found himself standing on pavement he hadn't seen in over 8 years. _Christ_—this was going to throw him for a loop. Stanford. California. Dean suddenly had a migraine at the thought. That's when he spotted the mop of brown hair atop a body that was way too tall for its age. He couldn't find his tongue, seemed that his mouth was too dry to even try to speak. A child, compared to the Sam of the future. He was going to puke, immediately.

* * *

Despite the typical California bustle, Sam heard the disturbance in the silence of the parking lot. It was, for the most part, vacant. Perhaps it was instinct that prompted him to make something of a mad dash toward the noise, his books falling from his arms. He practically skidded to a halt to note the familiar face at the center of it all. Too familiar, "Dean?" His head canted slightly to the side as he drew close enough to better see the other man in the dim glow of a nearby street lamp, "Is that you?"

It was the clearer view that ultimately gave him pause. Resemble his brother as he might, this man was older, thicker…weary. Confusion swept across his face, and it took a moment before his body managed to catch up to his suddenly racing thoughts, "What happened?" With Dean's devotion to their father's work, it could've been any number of things, but it was clear to him that something certainly had, "Is everything okay?"

* * *

And, of course, Sam would spot him immediately. Shit. Shit, shit, **shit**. He tried his best to put an incredulous expression on, but failed quite miserably. It was _Sam_, his quite literal—_especially at the moment_—little brother. He let a heavy sigh fall from his lips and held his hands out to the side in surrender. He was caught.

A hundred different emotions at once. Less tired, fresh face. Not-too-long hair, bangs still falling into his eyes. Making him look 20 years younger instead of 8. Dean could cry. "It-it's me, Sam," he managed, the words feeling heavy on his tongue. _His_ Sam—the Sam of now—was missing. It had been months, felt like an eternity. And, though he didn't want it to go this way, had warned himself against even taking a look at Sam, knew what it would bring; the Winchester took a shaky step forward and pulled the younger into a tight embrace. He found himself laughing softly, almost shaking with relief. Months, years, fuck-all. They were family. "Haven't seen ya in a while, man."

* * *

If there was any question in his mind that this man was actually his brother, it was very rapidly jolted from his thoughts. Even shapeshifters couldn't capture the complete essence of the person they were mimicking, despite the fact that they were able to see the memories, and this was absolutely, one hundred percent Dean Winchester. If asked, Sam wouldn't have been able to explain how he knew, but he knew nonetheless, "You're…different."

Dean approached, and Sam moved to meet him as his arms lifted, wrapping themselves securely around his brother. Instinctively, his head bowed until his chin propped itself upon the other man's shoulder, the tight shut of his eyes allowing him to be hyper aware of the form pressed against his own. Dean was…muscular. More so than he remembered him ever being, and the fact that he looked far older than he should've was indication enough that something was amiss, "I missed you, Dean." Finally, he released him, taking a single step back before he directed his attention to the apartment building with a gesture of his hand, "Come inside. You can tell me what's going on."

* * *

**Different**. If only he knew. Dean had died now more times than he could count, been to Hell, to Purgatory. The hunter had to hold back a laugh at the comment. 2013 was so far from 2005, yet holding Sam like this, it felt like _home_. He allowed himself, ever so briefly, to nuzzle against the younger's shoulder, a soft sigh pulled from his lips as he did so. The scent of new books and shampoo followed, so much different from what he knew. So far from the life it was almost laughable. He wouldn't acknowledge the whole time-travelling bit until a little bit later, once he got over this initial shell shock.

When Sam pulled away, Dean's arms felt strangely empty, hands diving into his pockets to account for the sensation. _I missed you, Dean_. Christ—now he _was_ going to cry. A year from now, the Impala would pull up outside of these same apartments, wake his brother and they'd start their lives over, together. A year from now, Jess would be dead. Jess? He wondered briefly at the whereabouts of the blonde as a smile struck his lips. "Missed y'too, Sammy, you have no idea." These words came easier, ringing nothing but true. The elder took a few steps towards the direction indicated, keeping in time with his brother, relishing these moments, knowing chaos was soon going to follow.

* * *

There was something so incredibly sad about Dean, the kind of sadness that he wasn't entirely sure he'd ever be able to fully relate to. Of course, the young Sam was blissfully ignorant to everything that would become of them in the following years, and right now, the other man needed only look at him to summon a dull ache deep within his chest. Something had happened to him, and Sam wanted to know what it was. More than that, he wanted to know how to help. Initially, he remained standing when Dean started toward the apartment building, watching the back of his head through large doe eyes, but he was soon to move up beside him.

Once they were inside, it was a short walk to his room, and he fished the key from his back pocket to insert it in the lock and part the wooden barrier, stepping aside so that Dean might enter first. Once the door was safely closed behind them both, he gestured toward the couch, "Have a seat. Do you want anything?" He was finding very quickly that his gaze tended to linger just a little too long on his brother, and even though he'd somehow managed to be polite, he was practically bursting at the seams to know what was happening.

* * *

Dean could feel the hesitation in the younger's stance, knew that Sam suspected him. Though, why wouldn't he? He was no longer the baby-faced 26 year old with a lust for life. Burnt and broken beyond repair, every day for Dean was a struggle to keep himself alive. His own worst enemy. And Sam knew him better than anyone else, even then. Even after running away from home to go to college. Running away from Dad. From Dean. For years, Dean blamed himself, blamed the clumsy nights, unspoken feelings. Wished he had told Sam the truth, how he really felt towards his brother. All types of **wrong**. But the pain had gotten easier after they went back on the road. Together, again, how it was _supposed_ to be.

He seated himself on the couch, familiarizing himself with the decor and the layout of a place he'd only ever been in twice. It was much more bare than it would become, still smelled of fresh paint, not yet lived in. "Beer's good, if y'got any," he said, turning his head to get a better look at the younger. Would wait for Sam to start asking the questions, didn't want to delve into the complications just yet.

* * *

"Sure, Dean." Sam was reluctant to move, but he did so for the sake of Dean's beer. He was gone for only the time it took him to extract two from the fridge, opening them both and tossing the lids in a nearby trashcan before he returned to seat himself beside his brother, perhaps a little closer than he should've, but there was comfort to be had in the closeness of the other man, and he longed for it now more than he realized. Maybe there was a part of him that hoped he might provide the same, "What are you doing here, Dean?" There was no accusation in his tone, but the slight hint that he might've understood that this Dean wasn't where he was supposed to be.

Sam offered Dean his beer as he took a needy drink of his own before reaching out to place it upon the surface of the nearby coffee table. He wanted to lean into him, but he resisted the urge if only so that he might focus on whatever he would say about their rather unusual situation.

* * *

_Here to save you from the demons coming to kill you. To protect you, watch out for my little brother, to do my job_. Those are the words that Dean wished he'd said, clearing his throat and shifting a little more towards the younger as he sat next to him. He took the beer gratefully, bringing it to his lips and taking a much needed sip. Didn't think this would be as hard as it was proving to be. It was those god damned _eyes_ of his, making the words just that much harder to speak. He wanted to make up for lost time, just fucking _touch_ him again. Apologize for his past self and his selfishness. For not vocalizing the words that Sam needed to hear; that might've kept him from leaving for Stanford.

Instead, he stuttered out his sentence, nerves making his voice clumsy. _Memories, that's all it is. Get ahold of yourself, man. _"Somethin' big is happenin', Sammy. Gotta look out for you." He couldn't say much more, wasn't sure if the demons had arrived yet or not. But judging by the time he had been sent back to, they were lurking. Waiting for their moment to strike.

* * *

Brows furrowed as Sam focused his gaze steadily upon Dean's face. Something big? Dean was the sort of man to rarely consider anything a big deal. When they hunted, they always knew what they were after and they always knew how to kill it. The constant presence of their father served to reassure them of that. Dean, as far as Sam knew, was nearly impossible to intimidate, and the sudden presence of nerves formed a cold lump in his chest that promptly sank directly into the pit of his stomach. He wanted to ask him what was happening, but he wasn't entirely sure that he'd be able to pry a direct answer out of him, "I'm…not a hunter anymore, Dean." Still, there was no conviction in the way he said it. Ultimately, if his brother needed him, he'd go with him.

Reluctantly, a palm elevated from where it'd been sitting on his lap, and it hovered with uncertainty over his cheek before ultimately pressing against flesh. Sam was still quite young, and his skin was much smoother, not having yet had the opportunity to form the callouses that would later plague most of his hand. Slowly, his thumb drifted across the line of his cheekbone, "What…what happened to you?"

* * *

_I'm not a hunter anymore, Dean_. The words echoed in his mind, immediately replaying the conversation from Halloween of 2005. How reluctant Sam was to leave with him, but ultimately how good of a team they made. The memories stung. But this Sam, was one without the stain of the life on him. Unscarred from Hell, a clean memory, life still shining in his eyes.

His self control dropped to 0 when Sam's hand reached his jaw, immediately, whether out of instinct or craving, tilting his head towards the touch, shifting his body closer. Felt good, _right_—no. He can't have this, not now. No matter how badly he wants to push his brother's hair out of his eyes, bare everything to him, Dean knows he can't. He's got a job to do. And indulging himself in time lost could get them both killed. _Life happened to me. You don't want to know_. He wouldn't get into it, to avoid the question as long as possible. But—_Christ_, he didn't want Sam to pull away. "Somethin' coming after you, after us both if I'm not careful. Wish I could tell you more."

* * *

With the light illuminating the small apartment, Sam could see Dean far better than he had in the parking lot, and what he saw, really saw, pained him in a way that he didn't know how to describe. Delicately, his thumb drifted across the crows feet that'd formed at the corner of one of his eyes, and he allowed himself a moment to truly inspect his brother. Every inch of him was different from what he knew, but it was ultimately what he found in his gaze that touched him the deepest, "You look like you've been through hell." Sam wasn't entirely sure that he was prepared to hear the explanation. Still, despite the occupation of his mind, he listened intently to what little Dean had to say, and he wasn't entirely sure how much longer he could endure this attentiveness to some dire situation that he didn't fully understand, "Dean…"

What Sam did understand, probably better than he understood most things, was the proximity of the other man, the faint scent of beer and gunpowder that seemed to cling to his flesh like a second skin. Fingers slowly drifted into his hair, toying gently with what he could of shorter blonde tresses as he leaned in enough that his forehead hovered mere inches from his brother's own.

* * *

"If you only knew, Sammy," his voice was quiet, more of a whisper than anything. Green eyes locked onto hazel, heart pounding in his chest as the younger seemed to look him over. Dean knew he must look almost terrifying to his brother, seen too much, done horrible things. He probably looked like a **monster**. And that fact is what upset him more than anything, fighting the whine that threatened to sound at the feel of the soft pad of Sam's thumb.

Time difference or not, this was _Sam_ in front of him. Warm, familiar. He knew this skin, then and now. These two were a force of gravity, always coming back to each other, no matter the obstacle. And when the younger pressed closer, hand knotting in his hair, Dean couldn't help himself. He brought his hand up, finally, allowing himself to cup at Sam's jaw, trying to stop his fingers from shaking. He shouldn't be nervous, they'd done this before. Didn't change the fact that he hadn't seen hide nor hair of Sam in months. The younger's name was a whispered prayer, quiet enough that it was probably hard for the other to hear. "Sam, please."

* * *

The trembling fingers upon his jaw sent a convoluted mess of emotion through his entire body. Sam knew well that Dean had his issues, his insecurities, but this Dean was entirely different. This Dean was vulnerable, raw, broken even, and he wasn't sure if he was hurt or angry on his brother's behalf. His hand lifted, seeking to steady the shaking limb with the lacing of their fingers, half lidded green eyes staring into the other man's. He was close enough that he heard the whispered plea, but he wasn't entirely sure if he was begging him to stop or continue, "Don't push me away again." He was close enough now that his muttered response might send a heated rush of breath across his brother's lips. He wasn't referring to any attempt Dean might've made to get rid of him. Sam knew well that he hadn't wanted him to leave. Mostly, he was referring to the brick wall that always seemed to be standing between him and any real emotion.

"The truth is…I miss you. Sometimes, I miss you so much it hurts. I would've taken you with me if I thought you'd come." The confession was one he truly believed he'd never say, but there it was nonetheless. Finally, when the aching became too much, he closed what little distance remained between them and delicately sealed his mouth over Dean's.

* * *

Both the words and the feeling of his breath shot a shiver down his spine. "No, I-I won't do that anymore, can't push you away," the words came out too fast, nerves and emotion all balling up into one, heart feeling like it was going to pound right out of his chest. Sam was laying himself bare for Dean, something that the elder was always jealous of. The ease of which Sam was able to express emotion, especially to something that was this _wrong_. Then, Sam continued, each syllable digging another hole into his already bleeding heart, bringing old feelings back to the surface. The guilt and blame he pegged on himself for pushing his brother away. But he was here, now. A sudden second chance.

Dean was going to take that chance and run with it, amend the wrongs he had been too scared to fix in the past. "You too, Sa—" his words were cut short by their lips colliding, hand gripping onto Sam's jaw, pulling him closer, staking claim over his brother. He knew now, the craving was too much—god, he had missed this, missed _his_ Sam—as his lips fought for dominance over the other's, free hand coming up to tangle in his hair.

* * *

Sam hummed his need against his brother's lips when they responded to the kiss he'd initiated. Every inch of him craved Dean with a ferocity that he'd never experienced before, and he adjusted his position to the only one he was certain would allow him to feel every inch of himself pressed against the older man. Fingers tangled themselves into the material of Dean's shirt, using them to tug him along as Sam relaxed back into the cushions of the couch, seeking to guide the broader man on top of him. A quick readjusting of his leg insured that Dean would find space to fit between his thighs, and all the while he struggled to keep their mouths connected, unwilling to give up even the slightest inch of contact now that he had it. Roughly, his lips massaged their partners, fingernails digging themselves into his shoulder, even through his clothing, to allow him to cling to Dean as if he were some sort of lifeline. Sam felt as if he were releasing a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding when he leaned in to whisper breathlessly into his ear, "I need you…"

* * *

It had felt like an eternity since Dean had felt himself pressed against his sibling. Over the years, the affection had run dry, slowing almost to a stop in the past two years. Sam blamed it on stress, but Dean blamed the job and his damned stupid mouth always saying the wrong things. Needless to say, the hunter molded himself easily to the more slender, lithe form of his brother, crooking one leg between his thighs. "I-I know, Sammy, won't let you out of my sight, promise," he breathed back, the hand in his hair tugging slightly, pulling his lips back to his own. Dean let out a soft cry against the kiss, trying as hard as he could to get as close as possible to him, but it was never enough. The only way to get as close as he wanted to would be to consume him entirely, feed the fire in his belly that was reignited with one simple touch. Letting his eyes fall shut, the hand on his cheek caressing along his sibling's jaw, down to his neck, under the collar of his shirt, feeling the too-soft skin hidden there. The lust, the need he felt for his brother was ever consuming, something that never went away, only intensified, even after Sam started rejecting him. He _needed_ this. More than air.

* * *

Pleasure hummed loudly in his ears. Or maybe it was just his heart's relentless assault upon his ribcage. Either way, he was certain that Dean could hear it. His hand was rougher than he remembered, but Sam enjoyed its contrast to his smoother flesh when it snaked beneath his shirt, turning his mind white and leaving him able to focus only on the places where the other man's body connected with his. Sam's back arched from the comfort of the couch, as if Dean had a magnetism all his own. One that could draw him in from anywhere, and he whimpered, the sound muffled by the kiss that dominated his mouth, as he began to gather the material of his shirt into his palms, seeking to drive it as far up his torso as their meshed bodies would allow. If he were capable of coherent thought, he might've asked him to undress. For now, all he could do was implore him with the slow gyrating of his hips against Dean's as the need for air prompted him to separate their kiss. Even so, his lips only diverted course, burying themselves against the side of his neck as he pulled eagerly at the clothing that barred him from his brother's flesh, "Dean…"

* * *

Dean arched slightly, allowing Sam to tug his shirt up further, shifting his hands to snake underneath of the other's shirt as well. He broke the kiss for a moment, allowing them to both shed the material, and a sigh fell from Dean's lips as he discarded the garment. Skin on skin. The contrast in size was overwhelming. Sam looked almost boyish compared to him. The feel of their hips grinding, though, sparked an animalistic need for _more_. More skin, more lips, more of those small noises that were being drawn from his brother's lips. It had been much too long. As Sam broke the kiss, taking in a much needed breath, Dean moved his hands to work on the younger's button and fly, arching his neck to allow Sam a bit more room. "It's okay, Sam, I got you," he whispered, words full of promise. He wanted to relish this time, take it slow, but the hunger wouldn't let him stall. He needed all of Sam, right here, right _now_. He had waited long enough.

* * *

Even before the shirts were gone, Sam recognized Dean to be much thicker than he knew. Still, nothing could've prepared him for the reveal of broad muscle and…a tattoo? Dean had a tattoo? That was an unexpected development. His pants loosened with the undoing of his button, the parting teeth of his zipper perhaps one of the loudest sounds he ever heard. He wanted his brother, _needed _his brother as much as he needed him. Already, there was a dull ache inside of him, one that seemed to begin the instant he'd packed his things and left for Stanford, and he knew, immediately, that the only thing that would be able to make it cease was Dean. Now, with their bodies tangled so close together, he craved the other man so desperately that it almost hurt. Nails dragged themselves down the flesh of his back as his lips once again buried themselves into the side of his neck, and Sam slowly created a trail of kisses that would ultimately lead to his shoulder. The sound of his whimpering was muffled against his brother's skin as he worked a hand between them, eager to undo Dean's pants as well so that he might grip the hem and tug, even if their current position wouldn't allow him the space he needed to remove them, "Help me, Dean…" His comment, whether his brother knew it or not, was aimed at more than the aid needed to remove the final pieces of clothing that separated them. In that instant, he felt as if the only thing in the world that might be able to save him from the torment in his body was Dean.

* * *

There was a freshness about the way the two moved together; broken man trying to right the wrongs he hadn't even done yet, at least not in Sam's eyes. When the younger spoke, there was a hint of desperation in the tone that struck him to his core. Sam _wanted_ him, even at Stanford. Even after leaving him. Arching his back into the touch, knowing that he was most definitely going to have crimson lines running down the skin in the morning. Dean lifted slightly, reluctant to let there be space between them, a soft whine vocalizing how much he disliked it, even for a moment. Working his hand quicker, leaning back slightly to tug Sam's pants down and off, keeping apart for a moment to allow his brother to finish undressing him as well. Hands shot up to the hem of Sam's boxers, squeezing at his thighs for a moment—they seemed to fit much better in his hands—before tugging them down as well. When he finished, Dean brought his lips back to his sibling's, open-mouthed and practically whimpering, right hand wrapping around Sam's half-hard cock, pumping slightly, hoping to finish off the arousal, as if his wasn't already evident.

* * *

Sam's hips elevated from the couch to aid in the removal of his pants and boxers when Dean sought to take them from him, and he used the opportunity provided to return the favor and leave them both entirely nude. The wrapping of rough fingers around the base of his cock caused a sudden intake of breath, and he moaned into his brother's mouth when it once again found his own, the rough massaging of lips seeking to drink in all of him. It took only the touch of his hand to leave him fully erect and squirming beneath Dean as his tongue emerged to delicately drift across his lower lip, the taste of beer that lingered there leaving him intoxicated and needy as it invited his to come out and play. Every inch of him felt as if it were on fire, and Sam's breathing was labored when his legs parted just a little more to invite his brother to what came next, soon folding themselves around the thicker man's waist. Every brush of his brother's hand summoned some tiny noise from within his throat as he repeatedly pressed his hips against Dean's hand, desperate for the friction, and he soon sought to work his own hand between them so that the pads of his fingers might move along the underside of Dean's erection, his thumb delicately drifting across the tip.

* * *

His brow furrowed slightly at Sam's eagerness, having to remind himself that this was Sam, his baby brother, and he needed to take care of him. To go easy, not let the pain and the suffering of the past few years show in his motions. Tongue against lips though, Dean found himself parting his own, allowing Sam access, his own tongue massaging against the other's briefly. He broke the kiss momentarily, one hand coming up to cup at his jaw, making eye contact, breath heavy. "Y'sure you want this?" He asked gently, moving his hand so he could spit on his fingers, wanting to prepare Sam for the pain that was inevitably about to follow. As he reached down, fingertips running gently over his shaft before continuing downwards, keeping his movements soft. Capturing his lips in another kiss as he slowly pushed his middle finger inside of his sibling, a light groan pulled from his throat as he did so—so much tighter than he remembered—before pausing, waiting for the 'okay' from Sam before continuing.

* * *

The hand upon his cheek served to ground him, drawing him back toward coherent thought and presence of mind if only long enough to respond to the rather serious sounding question posed by his big brother. He watched with rapt attention as Dean spat into his hand, his gaze following the southern descent of his fingers before he felt one press against his hole. When it pressed inside of him, Sam felt as if he couldn't breathe, and glassy green eyes rolled toward the ceiling as his back arched, his hands blindly scrambling for every bit of Dean's flesh that he could get his hands on. Already, Sam was trembling around his brother as a desperate, needy groan broke from his lips. It hurt, yes, but even that didn't matter nearly as much as the ache inside him. It took him a moment before he was able to present any kind of answer, but when he did, he whispered it against his ear, "No…" An arm tightened slightly around Dean's neck, fingers of his opposite hand tangling themselves in his air, "I need this, Dean. I need you… Don't stop it. Please, don't stop it."

* * *

Dean watched intently as his brother reacted, reminding himself that it had been almost a year for this Sam. No contact, no _Jessica_. Needed to be easy with this. He curled his finger slowly upwards, searching for the spot that would send sparks behind Sam's eyes. He worked like that for a moment, before slowly working a second in, scissoring them slightly, loving the sounds he was pulling from the younger. Dean had always been secretly jealous of the blonde, after her death, the jealousy increased, wanting nothing more to take that pain away from him, kiss it away in the darkness of the night. But Sam was cold for a long time after that. This was his chance to stake claim over the other, mark him as his own. As Sam pulled his neck down, Dean went easily, sucking the skin in the crook of his neck into his mouth, leaving a dark purple bruise in his wake. He grunted slightly, starting to work his fingers, in out, in out, loosening the muscles, meanwhile pressing his aching cock against his sibling's, rutting against him slowly, grateful for the friction. "Christ—missed you, Sammy," he repeated, lips leaving a trail of kisses along his neck.

* * *

Bright spots flashed within his eyes when Dean's fingers grazed the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of him, and Sam nearly screamed as his arms tightened around his brother, "Dean…Dean…" Over and over again, he repeated his name, the low, breathless whispers falling from his lips like a string of low prayers. His eyes shut tightly, and Sam winced briefly when a second finger joined the first, but it didn't prevent the responding of his hips when Dean's cock began to grind against his own, "Missed you, Dean." The returned sentiment was more of a moan than actual words. Truthfully, there was something all too amazing about his brother's hands. They had the power to fight off his enemies, protect Sam, and he could still vividly recall the first time he realized they could also give pleasure, "I…I want you inside me, Dean." Lowly, he whined the words against Dean's cheek before his head turned enough to offer more of his neck to the older man, the dull pain of now purple flesh somehow turning him on that much more.

* * *

Dean gave a small nod, still nipping at his neck, savoring something he hadn't tasted in all too long. He's always given Sam everything he possibly could, anything he wanted. At his brother's beck and call, the words whispered against his cheek only drove him more. He wouldn't give in that easily though, even though the fire in his belly was threatening to consume him entirely. "Not yet, baby," his voice was gruff, the endearment slipping out though it had been left unused for what seemed like an eternity. He pulled back for a moment, coating his free hand's fingers with saliva as well, working that over the head of his length, all the while still working to loosen Sam up for him as much as he possibly could. When he felt that he was ready, the younger practically begging for him, he slid his fingers out, hand grabbing on to the other's hip, keeping him still. Dean shifted slightly, positioning himself so he was sat back on his heels for the moment, lining himself up before slowly, ever so slowly, sliding the head of his cock inside of his sibling. A feral groan was pulled from his throat, leaning down to claim Sam's lips in his own. The feeling was new, yet familiar. This is where he felt at home, a hand in Sam's hair, lips pressing hard against the other's.

* * *

Sam could hardly see what Dean was doing for as lost as he was in he pleasure that crashed over him in endless waves. Every press of fingers pulled a moan from his lips, but he was very much aware when the weight of his brother abandoned him, and he forcibly willed his eyes to open so that he might look at the other man. Already, he missed the warmth of his body pressed against his own, the way his mouth felt against the side of his neck, and Sam could only groan his protest. That was until he felt the slick tip of his brother's cock against his his hole, and he was caught somewhere between pleasure and pain when it pushed beyond the initial barrier, forcing inner walls to stretch to accommodate the girth of him. Sam was suddenly struggling to breath as he once again wrapped himself around the older man, his thighs trembling relentlessly. Dean kissed him, and the younger Winchester was suddenly lost and dizzy, hyper aware of every sensation that covered his body, "D-Dean…" He whimpered his name against his mouth as his fingernails buried themselves into his flesh, "You're so big, Dean." Inner walls began to spasm around his erection as Sam hid his face against his brother's neck, heated breath washing over flesh.

* * *

Dean willed himself to move slow, the tightness clamped over him made it hard for him to even try to slide in further. "Take it slow, Sammy. Won't hurt you," he replied, his hand knotting itself in the other's hair, arching his back slightly as he inched his way inside, pausing every so often for the younger to catch his breath, to relax, before he moved again. It seemed like forever until he was entirely buried inside of his sibling, and his breath was coming out in short pants. God—all he wanted to do was anything Sam needed, anything he asked for. The hand on his hip gripped tighter at the skin, still pausing for the moment, allowing Sam to stretch out around him, get used to the feeling. He turned Sam's face to look at him again, pressing their foreheads together as he caught his breath. _Nowornevernowornever_. Dean knew he had to make up for his own stupidity, and the words were on the tip of his tongue. It was in this moment, buried to the hilt, laid raw and bare for his brother, that he had to let it be known. Too many years too late. "I-" he faltered, pulling him into another kiss, squeezing his eyes shut as he did so. "I… I love you, Sammy. I'm so sorry." The apology was an afterthought, simultaneously apologizing for all the stupid things he'd done in Sam's past and in his future. Dean remained stock still, half-terrified of the response, afraid Sam would just push him away.

* * *

The deeper Dean pushed into him, the harder it became to breathe. He wanted so badly to remain this way forever. To keep Dean there with him, the two of them tangled so tightly against one another that it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. Maybe if they held onto each other tightly enough then not even their demons would be able to come between them. Dean told him to take it slow, and he responded by burying his face against his neck, and he soon occupied himself by gently sucking upon the flesh he found there, the tip of his tongue delicately drifting across the red mark he left in his wake. Meanwhile, he latched onto Dean, his legs around his waist and his arms around his shoulders, and he poured every bit of his strength into keeping his brother against him as his every breath produced a low, needy moan. The elder Winchester was so big, and he could practically feel the other man's heartbeat inside of him. It left him feeling…warm. Hot even. Already, a light sheen of sweat played across his naturally bronzed skin, reflecting back the dim light. When the hunter started to speak, Sam lowered his head so that he might match his half lidded gaze against his brother's, plunging himself only briefly into darkness so that he might return the kiss that found his lips. What he said after it ended, though, nearly caused his heart to abandon his chest, "Dean…" A hand moved, resting itself upon Dean's cheek as his thumb gently drifted across the line of his jaw, "I love you too, Dean." When he lifted his head, it was only so that he might rest his forehead the older man's, "Don't ever leave me."

* * *

Dean found himself leaning into his touch, heart racing, whether it be from the confession or the fact that he was finally inside of him, he didn't know. "Couldn't ever leave you, Sammy, swear it," he replied, moving to bury his head in the crook of his neck. Beginning, slowly, to pull out of the other and slide back in, keeping his thrusts shallow for the moment. With _his_ Sam, he wasn't afraid to be rough, taking what he wanted, losing the romance of it all throughout the years. This, though, this was different. More than anything, he wanted to make this special for Sam, feel every inch of his skin possible. If he had to use a term for it, even though the words made him cringe inwardly, he would definitely consider what they were doing to be making love; keeping things soft, breath gentle and sweet against Sam's neck, pushing in and out of the younger. Allowing his hand to run through his brother's hair, other hand massaging at the slight muscles over his hip bone. "God—y'feel so good," Dean whispered, eyes falling shut and teeth sinking into the skin over his shoulder. Sam was impossibly tight around him, limbs wrapped around him only intensifying the feeling. Each thrust pulled a small whine from his lips, main priority on pleasing Sam.

* * *

A hand positioned itself against the back of Dean's head, cradling it to his neck when his big brother hid it there. To Sam there was nothing more solid, nothing more sure than Dean's word. To say that he trusted him was an understatement. If the hunter told him he could fly, he would've jumped off the roof of any building. Sam's head pressed back against the couch when Dean withdrew enough of himself to allow Sam to feel him push inside again, and, despite the fact that he was already so stretched, he made a conscious effort to tighten inner walls around his brother's cock, the pressing of heels against the other man's ass urging him to fill him up. Very carefully, he lifted his hips against Dean's, gyrating them slowly. The younger struggled to catch his breath as he moaned directly into the elder Winchester's ear, and when he whispered, his voice was thick with lust, "I never want this to stop." The bite against his shoulder made Sam whine as he clutched Dean more tightly against him, and he responded with the bite of dull nails into his skin, "I needed…" He was interrupted when another moan found itself bursting from his throat, but the instant he regained his ability to think, he continued, "I needed this."

* * *

If Dean thought the sensation was already too much, that thought multiplied ten fold when Sam tightened around him. Letting a strangled cry fall from his lips, immediately obeying and pushing in deeper, repeating the process over again. Pulling almost all the way out and sliding back home, each time accompanied by a kiss to Sam's neck. Though, it was when he spoke that he almost lost it completely, hearing his brother say those words. Words he hadn't heard in so long, that he'd craved and begged for. "Won't stop, Sammy. _Christ_—anything you want," his reply was soft, the curse hissing from between his lips. Dean moved his hand from Sam's hair to grab at his shoulder, allowing himself a bit more leverage to move inside a bit rougher. His head was swimming, both with emotion and with physical sensation. The craving he felt for his brother was overwhelming, wanting nothing more than to hear the soft noises that kept bubbling up in his sibling's throat. "Needed you," he added, words nothing but truth.

* * *

Sam's flesh tingled with every kiss Dean pressed against his neck, until he was practically mewling as he canted his head enough that he might lay his cheek against his brother's. This Dean, wherever he came from, was stronger than the Dean in his present, at least from what he experienced the last time they were together, and when he began to thrust more roughly, gripping his shoulder the way he did, Sam's body jolted with every push, sending him into a deep fit of desperate, needy moans that suddenly filled the otherwise empty apartment, "You….you feel so good, Dean…I love you." Despite the fact that the words had already been said, they were foreign on his lips, but there was something liberating about repeating the confession. Still, even if his brother hadn't already said it, it would've likely poured free anyway. Something about this particular encounter having stripped away all of his inhibitions and left him barely in control of his own body.

* * *

He wouldn't pick up the pace, comfortable with what they had going, the satisfaction of Sam's body rocking with each downward stroke was enough to make him insane as it was. Though, as his brother repeated his words, Dean attempted to quiet the moans by pressing his lips against the other's. His fucking heart was going to beat right out of his chest if Sam kept this up. He broke the kiss for a moment, pulling less than an inch away as he breathed his reply, "I love you, god… don't stop saying that, _ever_." The words came out faster than expected, a blush coming to creep onto his cheeks, barely noticeable through the flush that was showing over his entire body. Didn't stop his face from burning hot though, hiding it by pressing another kiss to Sam's lips, a low growl sounding from the back of his throat as he shifted his hips a bit, searching for the angle that would hopefully push the younger over the edge. Making this last forever was a good concept, but Dean didn't have the stamina now that he had when he was much younger.

* * *

When Dean kissed him, Sam moaned directly into his brother's mouth as he laid his hand upon the back of his head, his fingers slowly massaging his scalp, "Never…" His response came against with such closeness that the formation of the word caused his lips to graze Dean's, "Never ever." There was a building intensity between his thighs as the searching of Dean's cock located the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled deep inside of him. Already, he could feel the pressure begin to build, and it only caused him to cling tighter to the older Winchester, "I…I can't, Dean. I'm gonna…" He gasped as he buried his face against the side of his brother's neck. It was all the warning he could offer before his mind went blank and his body rigid. Inner walls began to spasm, tightening over and over again around Dean's erection as came, the hot, sticky substance suddenly coating his chest as Sam squirmed and moaned his brother's name.

* * *

Dean could feel Sam's orgasm approaching, both through his mannerisms and how Sam seemed to clench even tighter around him. "Cum for me, Sammy," Dean pleaded, working to keep the same angle, knowing he wasn't far off as well. As the younger found release, Dean pressed a rough kiss to his lips, rocking against him harder, helping him ride it out. The hunter wouldn't take much longer, a low groan pulled from his throat as he felt the tell-tale pull of pleasure from his groin. One, two, three thrusts and he was spilling into the other, crying out against his lips, letting his orgasm shake his whole body, leaving him quivering in the after shock, hips not completely stalling for a minute. When he did slow to a stop, though, he kept his lips on the other's, kissing him slow and sweet.

* * *

There was a rush of heat deep inside of him as his brother continued to press his hips against his ass, moving long enough to let him ride out his climax and savor what remained of their first time together again after such a long time. Not that Sam knew how long it'd been for Dean. When his brother kissed him, he responded with equal pressure of his lips, his palm resting against his cheek as his opposite hand found his shoulder and soon began to drift down the length of his bicep. It wasn't until then that he noticed the raised flesh and brows furrowed when their mouths separated, a slight cant of his head angling him in such a way that he might inspect what felt to be scarred flesh. His eyes widened to note the highly unusual pattern, a hand print in his brother's arm, before he abruptly turned his gaze upon Dean's, confusion clearly written across his face, "Dean, what is that?"


	2. Chapter 2

This is a compilation of an ongoing thread from my roleplaying account. Wanted to put it into fic format for easier reading, seeing as there are a few fans of the work already. Prepare for the angst.

Dean is here: whiskeyandgunoil | tumblr

Sam is here: hellbound-hunter | tumblr

Enjoy, and let me know if there's anything that needs fixed. Story will switch points of view very often, considering it's a roleplay thread.

A lot of fluff / emotions in this chapter. In for the ringer in the next one though, hang on for the ride.

* * *

As Sam broke the kiss, he took the moment to slip out of him, a sigh leaving his lips as he leaned into the touch on his cheek. It wasn't until he felt Sam's hand travel down his arm that he started to panic. So many things that Sam didn't know about. So many things he didn't want to tell him, keep it from tainting the mostly innocent mind in front of him. When his fingers brushed over the scar, though, he had to let out a low whimper. This was something he hid from everyone, something he didn't like talking about. But Sam had inquired, and he wasn't in a position to deprive his brother of anything. He cleared his throat slightly, half-tempted to press another kiss to his lips but holding off. Knew he was caught. "Y'still believe in angels, Sam?" his voice was soft, almost quivering. "I, uh-" he faltered, hand coming up to rest over Sam's, which was sitting over the very scar he was trying to explain. "One named Cas, he's saved my ass a few times."

* * *

Sam whined his protest when Dean pulled out of him, his back arching and his body reacting to the sudden emptiness with his brother's cock no longer inside of him. Still, it didn't take very long for his mind to return to the question at hand, but what Dean asked him in return caused his brows to lift. Despite all of the things he'd seen, all of the things he'd done, he did believe in angels. A flip side of the coin, something good to balance out the bad. It didn't matter much to him that he'd never met one, "Yeah, I believe in angels." He watched Dean's hand cover his own as he abruptly turned his gaze upon his brother again, He'd met one? They were real? The initial shock was only dampened by the scar itself and the fact that this Cas was a friend and yet he'd marked his brother. _His _brother, "He's your friend?" Already, there was a cold twisting in the pit of his stomach, but he suppressed it. Angels helped people. That was what they were supposed to do, right? "But the scar…what does it mean?" Surely, it had to mean something if Cas was a friend. Dean wouldn't have trusted him if it'd been placed there maliciously.

* * *

Slowly, Dean pulled Sam's hand away from his arm, lacing his fingers with the other's as he matched the younger's confused expression. This was really the last thing he wanted to discuss, especially after how easy things had been since he arrived. He wouldn't tell him about Hell, about selling his soul. No, there were secrets he needed to keep from his brother. He was already fucking up time as it was. "Friend, kinda—" truth be told, he had no idea what Castiel was these days. Even the angel had become cold towards him, a sentiment that hurt more than he liked to admit. "It's kind of," a pause, licking over his lips and rubbing the pad of his thumb against the back of Sam's hand. "When souls come in contact, y'know, with one another, sometimes… they leave scars behind. Like an open door." Dean's brow furrowed, trying his best to explain this in a way that wouldn't reveal what it was really from.

* * *

The way Dean reacted, lacing their fingers and stroking the back of his hand, made Sam think that he was preparing him to hear something that he truly didn't want to hear, and once Dean finished explaining, he found his fears to be validated. Kind of a friend? Souls connecting? These were things that sounded all too intimate for everything Dean had just said to him, everything they'd just done. Sex was nothing new between them, but this time had been…different, and Sam suddenly found himself wondering if he'd read further into it than he was supposed to. Maybe when Dean said he loved him he meant the brotherly kind of love that was understood but unspoken between them when the younger Winchester had understood it to be something more…personal, if that was the word. Pain ripped through his chest, striking him directly in the heart as he tugged his hand from his brother's and pressed it against the cushion, a little wiggling seeking to dislodge him from beneath the weight of the other man until his knees were pulled against his chest with his arms cradling them against his him, making himself as small against the corner of the couch as he could if only to break all contact with Dean. For as high as he'd been when he thought he'd at last come to terms with emotions he'd always hoped Dean was experiencing in secret, that was how far he'd fallen, and there was a pressure in his eyes that turned them glossy. Abruptly, he turned his head when he felt a tear drift down his cheek, swiping it away bitterly with the back of his hand, "You're not mine?" His voice was strained, the question emerging as little more than a whisper, and the pain in his chest seemed to be seeping across his entire body, "I thought…Dean…" He hated the way he so desperately wanted him to comfort him, even though it was he that caused him to need comfort in the first place, "Doesn't matter what I thought. I was wrong. What are you doing here, Dean? Why aren't you with…_Cas? _I can take care of myself."

* * *

Seeing the hurt expression that his brother suddenly wore, that was the first crack. The second was when Sam pulled away, crawling out from underneath of him to curl against the couch. As far away as possible. Damn his stupid mouth. He shouldn't have come back to begin with, should've finished the demons off before they got sent back here. But it was too late now, he was here. He had done the damage, fucking bared everything for his brother and Sam had thrown it all back in his face. Mind-shattering pain, how dare Sam tell him to just go be with Cas, he didn't know anything. Sam was the one that Dean ached for in the middle of the night, the one he screamed himself hoarse over, the one who he'd gone crazy looking for in the past few months. Sam was the one who took off, left him without a trace, without even saying goodbye, throwing his affection right out of the window. But this wasn't the Sam of his present. This Sam had tears welling up in his eyes and no matter how mad he would get, he would always try to make amends with his brother—that's what love was. "Sammy, _please_," his voice was cracking, fucking tears threatening to spill over the brim of his eyes. Damn his brother, with his kicked puppy look. "It's not like that—not at all—I'm yours, always been yours." His voice was nothing but a whisper, arms coming up to attempt to wrap around the younger, pulling him to his chest, cradling him softly. He reached for Sam's hand, bringing it to his shoulder once again. "Put your hand on it, please, you'll see." Dean continued, a desperate plea to wipe that look off his sibling's face. Knowing from prior knowledge that when Sam would fit his hand on the scar, he could feel the pulsing of his soul, how it yearned for his brother. The dull ache of a shattered love, edges burning white hot and reaching for the soul it shared a heaven with.

* * *

Dean implored him, but he didn't move at first. Instead, his voice cracked as lips parted to speak, "…You don't even wear the necklace anymore…" It wasn't that Sam ever required it of him, that it was some symbol of whatever it was between them, but he'd never been without it, not since he'd given it to him that Christmas morning. After they became intimate the first time, Sam took a certain measure of pride in seeing it around Dean's neck, knowing, even if no one else did, that it was a piece of him that he always carried with him. Sam didn't have enough fight left to resist when Dean pulled him in, and his body reacted violently to the convoluted mess of emotion swirling around in his chest. He'd always wanted to hear his brother say that he was his, that he belonged to him, and now that he had, it only clashed with the pain already sending a minor tremor through his entire body. Like standing in hot water and then immediately having it run cold. Still, his head fell against Dean's chest, the dull thumping of his heartbeat comforting him in a way that he wanted to resist. He still didn't fight when Dean guided his hand toward the scar, his fingers fitting into the imprints. What he felt all of the sudden nearly suffocated him, and Sam was breathing heavily as he used his vacant hand to cling to his brother in spite of himself.

* * *

The necklace. Dean's heart sank into his stomach, hiding the guilt behind the already tear stained eyes. Had thrown it in the trash, had given up hope. He would let it slide, address it another time, maybe he'd noticed that Dean no longer wore his mother's wedding ring either. He'd died too many times to retrieve jewelry from rotting bodies. Had become a chore. But when Sam leaned into his touch, his free hand came up to tangle in his hair, massaging softly. Pressing his lips briefly atop his head, before his hand came in contact with the print. This was a trick Dean had figured out almost as soon as he returned from Hell, with Sam's incessant wandering hands, finding purchase on the raised skin. It had since been a way to add another dimension to their ever fading love life, sometimes forcing Sam's hand on it to express words he couldn't form. But now, this was the first time for his brother. He felt it too, the slight stirring of something buried in his chest, awakening, reaching for the entity it knew so well. He closed his eyes against the sensation, rocking them both slightly and humming a tuneless song, heart slowing in his chest as he let the feeling wash over him, hoping Sam could feel the same intensity.

* * *

Dean didn't respond to his comment about the necklace, but Sam hardly cared as the strange sensation infected his every nerve ending. Emotion swelled beneath his ribcage, and he wasn't entirely sure who it belonged to, but it somehow made him feel wanted. Perhaps even needed, "I'm sorry, Dean." Sam muttered against his brother's chest as he rocked them, the sound of the tune he hummed lulling him into a state of ease. Whatever anger or hurt he felt seemed washed away by the overwhelming influx of emotion, Dean's emotion. Needless to say, the tears didn't vacate his eyes, but this time they were for an entirely different reason. What he experienced now was more than he could've ever hoped his older brother might feel for him, and he clung to it like a lifeline, "I never want to lose you, Dean. I just…I know I left for Stanford, but I didn't go to get away from you. Saying goodbye to you was one of the hardest things I've ever done."

* * *

Aqua blue stretches and yawns towards the contact, reaching the edge of available room as it pulsates against the younger's hand. Dean found himself pulling Sam closer, until he was quite literally in his lap, other hand coming to turn Sam's head up, pressing a needy, desperate kiss against his lips. He didn't fight back the tears that finally spilled, closing his eyes as he tried to express how insatiable the fire for his brother had become. Had always been. "Don't you _ever_think I don't love you, Sammy: you hear me?" His voice was the same as when the younger was in trouble, struggling to save him. To take care of Sam no matter the cost. He pressed his nose against the other's briefly as he spoke, smiling slightly beside the tears. "You won't ever lose me, never again." Dean knew now how badly it had hurt when Sam left him for Stanford. Breaking away from the only family he had ever known. He pressed another, deeper kiss against his lips, not bothering to wipe the tears that rolled down his cheeks.

* * *

Sam moved to the will of Dean's urging hands, soon finding himself in the other man's lap. With the pulsing beneath his palm, the overwhelming sensation filling his entire body, there was nothing he wanted more than to be as tightly pressed to his brother as he possibly could, and he was thankful for the contact. More than that, even. He needed it. The younger Winchester whimpered against Dean's chest, only lifting his head when a hand prompted him to do so, and it was the tears rolling down his cheeks that struck him first. Sam couldn't remember the last time he'd seen him cry, and it summoned tears to his eyes as well as he leaned up as much as he possibly could to meet Dean's lips with his own. Slowly, his mouth massaged his brother's, barely leaning back when they separated to allow him to speak, "I won't. Never again, Dean. I promise." Dean said he would never leave him, and Sam trusted him wholeheartedly. It didn't matter what happened between them. Sam still believed he hung the moon, and that was all it took for him to know that he'd never lose his brother again. A second kiss left his mouth tingling as he tangled the fingers of his vacant hand into the older man's hair, "Please don't cry, Dean." When the kiss ended, he brought his hands to his cheeks, his thumbs seeking to gently brush the tears from his skin.

* * *

Dean had continued to rock his brother, a habit, from when they were both so much younger. When Sam would have nightmares and Dean would try to calm him. Though, when his brother's hand leaves his shoulder, he stops, almost whining from the connection being broken. It had been so long since he had felt that familiarity. The only thing he could bring himself to do was to cling tighter, fighting the whine that was bubbling up in his throat. Dean didn't know if Sam felt it the way he did, didn't know if the intensity was there like it had been for the elder. Perhaps it had just been the longing deep in his belly to feel so close to him again. He found himself leaning into the younger's touch, opening his eyes reluctantly, the dim light in the apartment making his face nothing more than a silhouette. As the pulsing faded, Dean found words hard to form. "I-" he took in a breath, trying to get his mind back into reality. "So sorry, Sam." For everything, for crying, for not being the strong big brother that Sam needed him to be, for being so god damned broken, for letting his mouth run ahead of his thoughts. He could apologize for a thousand things, a million times over, and it still wouldn't be enough. The best he could do was to stick to his word, not leave him, not ever.

* * *

Sam felt it all, and it struck him more deeply than he could've anticipated. It took that alone for him to realize just how much Dean had loved him all this time, and it killed him to think that he'd hid it so well. Mostly, Sam couldn't understand why. Because they were brothers, maybe? Dean apologized, and Sam couldn't imagine what he had to be sorry for. A hand lifted to the back of his brother's head, guiding it against his shoulder as he turned his own enough to lay his cheek against him, "You haven't done anything wrong, Dean. It was my fault, okay? I didn't mean to assume…I just…All of the things we've seen, none of it scares me as much as losing you." Fingers drifted slowly through his brother's hair before his palm fell still against the back of his neck, "I came to Stanford because I wanted to be safe, but even surrounded by monsters, nothing's ever made me feel as safe as you do."

* * *

Dean moved willingly, nuzzling into the crook between Sam's neck and his shoulder, the skin there bruised and bitten from earlier. The thought almost had a smile pulling at the corners of his lips, thankful for it being as dark as it was. But his brother kept talking, Dean's ear remaining attentive, despite running his hands along the younger's back. "Not your fault, never your fault," Dean whispered, lips brushing against skin as he did so. _As much as losing you_. Those words struck him to his core, bringing his head out from against his neck, pulling Sam into another needy kiss, never wanting to pull away. Dean knows, now, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that where he belongs is right here. Nothing in this world could tear these two apart, chained to each other, knowing that even if he tried, it would take heaven and hell colliding to wrench his brother from his arms.

* * *

The delicate nuzzling against the tender spot upon the side of his neck prompted his eyes to close as the tips of his fingers drifted across the back of his brother's shoulders. Sam didn't entirely know if he had the words to explain how much he cared for the man in his arms. It seemed to feel so far beyond any love he'd felt for anything else that love no longer seemed to be an accurate word. Yes, he was his brother, but he was so much more than that. When Dean leaned back, seeking to kiss him, Sam gave it willingly, groaning into his mouth as his thumb idly drifted across the older man's temple. He savored the taste of his lips until it made his head spin, and when he leaned back, he remained close enough that they just barely touched the elder Winchester's, his body instinctively trying to move even closer, despite the fact that there was no more space between them, "I've never wanted anything more than to tell you how much I love you."

* * *

Dean whined softly as Sam pulled back, though grateful he still remained close. Bringing a hand up to palm at his cheek, his stomach seemed to do a flip at the younger's words. He needed to know, needed Sam to elaborate. Wanted to hear him talk for hours, savor the reunion as long as possible. "Tell me, Sammy, please," he breathed, lips brushing against his sibling's as he spoke. Dean knew it was improbable, that they would have to get moving soon, explain to Sam what was coming after them. Why he was truly here. But he wouldn't do that until he had his fill, didn't want to ruin the moment they had going. Wanted to prove to Sam that he had always cared, always. Even when he was too stupid to say anything in the past.

* * *

A palm pressed itself flat against Dean's chest, his fingers slowly drifting toward his stomach as he canted his cheek into his brother's rough hand. Sam had no urge at all to put space between them, enjoying that every muttered, intimate word they shared caused their lips to graze. When Dean spoke, asking him to tell him, Sam found that he was all too glad for the opportunity to make his brother understand how much he loved him, how desperately he needed him. The younger man smiled as he laid his forehead against Dean's, looking him directly in the eyes, "You're always the last thing I think about before I go to bed and the first thing I think about when I wake up in the morning. I dream about you, always dream about you, and wake up wishing you were there. Before I left for Stanford I'd just…watch you sleep sometimes and wish you would let me crawl in beside you. You've always been my hero, Dean. Always."

* * *

Dean matched the pressure that Sam was putting against his forehead, a slight smile playing at his lips. Running his hands through the younger's hair, listening to his words; every part of him yearning to hold on to his brother and never let go. "I wish I would have told you before you left, Sam." His words were soft, apologetic, twining his fingers in the soft hair at the base of his neck, shifting slightly so Sam was still pressed as close to him as possible. More than anything, Dean knew he should have told Sam before he left. To maybe keep him from leaving; for Stanford and for wherever the hell he was now. Dean knew he probably could have stopped him, if only he had been more open, more honest about the burning desire he harbored for the younger.

* * *

For all of the things that Sam loved about Dean, perhaps what he loved most was the feel of the other man's hands against him, and he smiled as he lifted his own to rest it over one of his brother's. Now, with their bodies pressed so close together, exchanging whispered words in the darkness of is living room, Sam felt more at ease than he'd ever felt. The monsters didn't matter anymore, or the way they were raised. If Dean had done these things before he left for Stanford, there was no way he'd ever been able to go. Sam smiled as he brushed his lips against his the other man's, the pads of his vacant hand tracing indecipherable patterns across his chest, "It's okay, Dean. Everything's okay now. Trust me." Sam didn't know that he would someday betray Dean, or of the ways that they would hurt each other over and over again, but when Sam told him now to trust him, he met it wholeheartedly. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing wrong between them, and nothing that could be wrong again.

* * *

Dean found his fingers lacing against his brother's, squeezing softly. All the words exchanged in the past few hours, everything said, everything meant. It felt as if a huge weight was lifted off his shoulders. Dean didn't know if it was because this Sam didn't have his back turned to him as he spoke, or because of how things had progressed, but it felt good to be able to confess to something so huge. Let his brother know that he had always cared about him; definitely more than a normal sibling should. "Don't forget about what I said, ever." He returned, pressing another kiss to Sam's lips, the hand on the back of his head seeking to pull him closer, never let him part.

* * *

"I won't, baby, I promise." Before Sam really had a moment to seriously consider the pet name that seemed to escape without his permission, Dean kissed him and he was taken with the feel of his brother's lips against his own. The younger Winchester groaned against his mouth as he idly toyed with his hair. There'd been times the word almost slipped out, but he knew how his current Dean would've reacted. The penny was still in the air as far as this Dean's reaction. As if afraid that it might be negative, his arms tightened significantly around the older man, clutching him securely against his chest in the hopes that he wouldn't pull away, "I'm sorry, Dean."

* * *

Dean's brow furrowed against the kiss, considering all the times—perhaps less than five in the past year—that that word was used between them. It was more common of them to just use their names when addressing the other, making things less complicated. The hunter picked up on the worry in the younger's embrace, a small smile pulling at the corner of his lip at the thought. "For what, Sammy?" He whispered, lips pressing a trail of kisses along his brother's jawline.

* * *

Dean didn't get upset or pull away from him. In fact, he didn't seem to mind at all. His eyes slowly drifted to a close as the line of kisses moved along his jaw, and he reached up to slowly massage the back of his neck as his head canted toward his brother. Maybe everything really was going to be okay, maybe things truly were different. The last thing in the world that Sam wanted was to break any connection between them, but he did eventually. If only out of necessity, "Don't you dare run off, okay? I'll be right back." He offered a final kiss to Dean's temple as he stood, groaning his protest the whole way before he turned to make his way across the living room and in the direction of the bathroom.

* * *

Dean leaned into the touch, a low groan leaving his throat as Sam massaged at his skin. His tongue came out momentarily, seeking to swipe across the sensitive skin underneath of his jaw. But he was cut short by Sam announcing his departure, though only to the other room. He felt his heart set into panic mode, not wanting his brother to leave his sight if only for a moment. Whining gently as the younger got up, closing his eyes against the kiss momentarily before opening them again, almost wracked with desperation. "Wouldn't dream of it," he returned, moving to grab his discarded clothing off the floor, dressing himself slowly as he waited for his return.

* * *

Even as he left, Sam was surprised by the ache already setting in. Already, he wanted to crawl against him, and the brief glimpse he got of the other man dressing as he disappeared summoned a groan from deep within his throat. Once the door shut, there was some distinct shuffling in the bathroom before, at last, he emerged, disappearing into his bedroom and then the kitchen. By the time he made his way back toward the living room where he'd left his brother, he was dressed. Hands extended, reaching for his waist as he pressed his lips securely against Dean's own, and the younger Winchester groaned into the kiss. Presumably, it was the younger Winchester, "I missed you so much, Dean." The words were accompanied by a broad grin and the reveal of a knife he'd carefully concealed against the hem of his jeans. At once, green eyes turned black until the darkness consumed them entirely as the demon stepped back, "Did you miss me?" Finally, a palm extended toward Dean, some invisible force seeking to push him against a the far wall.

* * *

Dean's eyes flickered to the bathroom door, brow furrowing with worry. He let out a soft sigh as he finally pulled on his button down over the t-shirt, retrieving the weapons he had brought with him and tucking them back in their rightful place. When Sam emerged, heading straight for him and pressing a kiss to Dean's lips, he almost resisted. This felt_ wrong_, but it was Sam. He almost whined as the younger pulled away, but his eyes narrowed at the knife he was now wielding. He moved quickly, but to no avail. As soon as he made the connected, he was slammed backwards into the wall, unable to move. His voice was strangled when he did get the chance to speak. "Who… the hell… are you?" Trying his best not to panic, knowing it was most likely the demons who had come to kill Sam in the first place.

* * *

"Just a friend." The demon grinned broadly, staring at his vessel's brother through the blackness that consumed his eyes, "Does Sam know why you're here? He's screaming awfully loud. I might need to shut him up a little sooner than I'd planned." As if to make his point, the demon applied the blade of his weapon to his cheek, dragging a long, deep line in the flesh that immediately caused blood to seep from the newly created wound, "We have orders not to kill him immediately. No, no, Dean. You see, this is as much for you as it is for us. We don't want the gates of Hell to open, and getting to piss you off along the way just makes it that much sweeter." At once, he adjusted the tip of the blade in his palm before plunging it roughly into the flesh of Sam's thigh, his head rolling back on his shoulders maniacal laughter poured from his throat.

* * *

Guilt. Fucking dripping through his blood. His heart sank at the demon's words, using his innocent brother as a tool. It was ripping his heart out. "No." The word was soft, either because of the pressure on his chest or the impending tears he was trying to hide, he didn't know. Though, the demon took it one step further, slicing into Sam's flesh, and Dean felt his heart go into overdrive as he tried to wrench himself from the invisible grip. "No, fuck!" Voice raised now, malice obvious in his eyes. Now the leg. Panic and rage seeped through his body as he watched what this abomination was doing to his brother. "Stop. Now. Take me, _please_." A plea, a hopeless one at that. "Don't hurt him, just take me. You can do anything you want."

* * *

"That worked for you last time, didn't it? Well, not this time, Dean. This time, we've already got what we want, and it isn't you." Violently, the demon ripped the knife from Sam's leg, if only to plunge it a second time. "Ah, I could do this all day." The demon chuckled as he removed the knife once more, and this time, he applied the sharpened edge against the delicate flesh of his neck, "I could end this quickly." The slightest pressure caused blood to trickle from the small opening, "Would you like to know what he's saying up here, Dean?" The question came as he tapped his temple with his vacant hand, "He's screaming your name. He's telling you to run. But you can't, can you? You can't do anything." The demon sighed heavily before he turned his gaze upon the door, "As much as I'm enjoying our time together, I have a date with your brother. I have no doubt I'll be seeing you soon." And with that, the demon started toward the exit of the apartment building, taking his time as he kept Dean secured against the wall.


End file.
